Successful young Brit guitar bands are almost a site of special scientific interest these days. Yet close study of Palma Violets, by some way 2013's biggest guitar hope, doesn't reveal much that we didn't already know. The London foursome have muscled through by sticking to a formula nearly as old as rock itself, mixing ramshackle punk-garage chords with irresistible visual appeal in the form of bassist Chilli Jesson and singer/guitarist Sam Fryer.

Their double act compensates for the many moments in this show that feel like vestigial echoes of the Clash or the Libertines. Crucially, the two put their own spin on the bromantic template: where most pairs consist of one show-off and one saturnine lurker, à la Jagger/Richards, Jesson and Fryer are equal spotlight-hoggers, jerking their skinny forms at each other and at the front row. Their gang-of-two intensity has the expected aphrodisiac effect on the crowd, who spend the gig crawling over each other to get on stage. At one point, Jesson tests his power by commanding: "Get on to your knees," and half the place drops to the floor. This kind of adoration could confer a Bono complex, but for now, Jesson just looks like a very pleased 20-year-old.

In their hour-long appearance, they bang out the entirety of their debut album, 180, and a few covers. It's the 180 material that gets the place lurching – especially Best of Friends and its big festival chorus – but the covers show their true scuzz-rock potential. By this point, hyped up from 50 minutes of living the indie-god dream, they tackle the 60s garage anthem Green Fuz with the wildness it demands, and generate a mass stage invasion during the show-closing Invasion of the Tribbles. As fans swarm, a roadie trundles out to fetch the shrieking, shirtless Jesson, who doesn't want the party to end.

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